


Maybe things aren't "okay"

by Ignavia



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: anyway uhhh, it was written for a group chat fjdhdhhdjs, michael mells a mess, theres mentions of violence, this is fucking unfortunate, this is only on here bc i needed a way to post it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignavia/pseuds/Ignavia
Summary: Michael was known by most as the "chill stoner headphones kid", which wasn't far from accurate to the outside eye. Because, yes, he did remain calm and kept to himself and his music. That was fine.But Michael would be lying if he said that was how he always felt. Because truth be told, Michael wasn't always always 'chill'. No, Michael Mell was filled with a repressed anger like you would not believe. He got mad, he got fucking /furious/, but he would not let that out. Maybe that wasn't healthy, but he didn't care. Repressing was how he coped, so sue him.





	Maybe things aren't "okay"

**Author's Note:**

> this was for some friends in an rp chat but i couldnt post it there raw bc it hit word limit :V
> 
> anyway michaels not so chill

Michael was known by most as the "chill stoner headphones kid", which wasn't far from accurate to the outside eye. Because, yes, he did remain calm and kept to himself and his music. That was fine.  
But Michael would be lying if he said that was how he always felt. Because truth be told, Michael wasn't always always 'chill'. No, Michael Mell was filled with a repressed anger like you would not believe. He got mad, he got fucking /furious/, but he would not let that out. Maybe that wasn't healthy, but he didn't care. Repressing was how he coped, so sue him.

But why Michael was angry was a topic he tried not to touch on. The reasons came to him in late nights and memories leaked from boxes locked away tight. He hated them. Hated remembering. It made him feel scared, made him fear the consequences of letting out that anger. And despite that, despite that fear, he wanted to let it out and just get rid of it. Unburden himself and let everyone know that, no, he fucking wasn't okay.  
But it was unfair. He knew that. It was unfair on everyone, and he didn't want to hurt them. So he kept quiet and let those lonely nights be the reminder.

They were small things. But small things add up, they multiply and fester, unresolved. And those small things keep on piling up until that ultimate straw on the camel's back that shatters him. Breaks him and crushes him until he can no longer identify the person who he was, or who he is now. 

The first small thing, he realises, was at the start of this mess. The very beginning. The feeling of being unappreciated, of not being enough. Because Michael wasn't enough, he was never enough.  
And, fuck, maybe it was selfish. Maybe he shouldn't feel this way, but when your best friend begs for popularity and escape from his current life, it makes you think. It makes you /doubt/. Why was Jeremy so desperate to seek out popularity? To seek out attention from others? Obviously it wasn't unreasonable for Jeremy to wish for those things; he only spoke to Michael, so of course he would appreciate more friends. But why did he seek out help in the form of a $600 ($400 in the end) supercomputer? It seemed too much. It pissed Michael off. He wanted to ask Jeremy, to ask why he would go that far. Michael had told him that things would be easier in college - it wasn't far away - why did it matter now? 

And that was another thing. Christine. He didn't hate Christine, god no, he never hated her. What he hated is the way Jeremy threw everything away for her. For a girl he may end up breaking up with 2 weeks later. It confused Michael and it didn't sit well with him. He was fine with Jeremy's crush on her - yeah, obviously it hurt because Michael loved Jeremy, but that was irrelevant - but what pissed Michael off was once again the purchase of the SQUIP. For one girl, he threw away an entire friendship. An entire friendship built on a 12 year foundation. 

The second thing was entirely justified in his eyes. Jeremy's half assed apology at the play. Michael didn't think it was unreasonable that he should ask for an apology, all things considered. Hell, he didn't even have to try and save Jeremy's ass. He could have just stayed at home where everything was easier. He should have done it that night, too. But, no, Michael Mell sacrificed himself once again to help Jeremy. The night of the party, Michael would never have gone to a place such as that - a place that was filled with /so many people/, so many that he couldn't fucking /breathe/. But he did. He did because he believed he could save Jeremy. But he couldn't, because Jeremy did not want to be saved. Because Jeremy would rather be popular and an asshole. When Jeremy pushed pass him, Michael wanted to scream at him. To fucking rip into him. Because /how dare he/ say that shit? How dare he accuse him of being jealous, as though Michael should honestly want to become what he has become. But he didn't. He let him pass, closed the door and repressed it all.  
Repressed the anger, replaced it with sadness and wallowed in self pity.

He dragged himself to that play because of Mr.Heere. Reluctantly he went, one last ditch attempt to save the boy who clearly no longer cared. But things change, he supposed. Because Jeremy /wanted/ to be saved this time.  
He should feel pleased, ecstatic even. Yet he felt a hollow feeling. Jeremy, whom had refused to listen despite all of Michael's protests, despite all his warnings, was now begging for help. He ignored Michael's warnings, yet here he was now begging. And so Michael asked for an apology. It was warranted. He had been treated like shit, he deserved one. Because despite everything, despite the hell he had been put through, here he was. So the half assed apology fucking infuriated him. But he let it go for the time being, let it go and helped him so he could demand it later. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. Because he saw Jeremy there, lying in that hospital bed, and he felt that anger dissappear. No, that was a lie. It didn't dissappear, it joined the collection of anger that had been steadily building since the start; untouched and abandoned. 

Michael thought - hoped - this would end after it. He was wrong, though. Always wrong.  
He had been through a lot, that wasn't hard to see. At least, he didn't think it was. Yet nobody asked, "Hey, Michael; how are you?" No one asked during the event, where he would walk the halls alone, no longer accompanied by the one person who mattered, and nobody asked now on the days he could barely speak. Because the events fucked him up. They really did. The days he would wake up and feel that hollow feeling inside of him were too often now. But no one noticed. Michael slipped under their radars, left to suffer alone.  
He juggled people's problems, quashed his own, and went by unnoticed. That's how it was. If anyone needed help, he offered it. Nevermind that he was suffering, never fucking mind the fact that he was beginning to feel the physical and mental effects. Nobody asked, nobody reached out, and that was fine. That was fine, he said in those nights of loneliness. Where his anger grew and grew and he would find his arm bleeding in the morning, his nails covered in the dried metallic substance. Nobody noticed. That was fine.

That was not fine.

Michael was not fine.

Michael found another source of anger amongst it all. People who should always be there to support their children through issues, though hard times. Where were his? Oh yeah, halfway across the fucking world in luxurious planes and dream hotels. They loved him, of course. He knew that. But where the fuck were they for those months he spent crying at night, begging things to go back. When he had /no one/ anymore, when everything was dark and dangerous thoughts crossed his mind too often. Where were they when he was bloodied, beaten and bruised? Where were they when he was 12, sitting in his room having a fucking panic attack? Who the fuck leaves their 12 year old kid with nothing but a shitty neighbour who checked on him every 4 hours?  
Michael's parents, apparently. And, yes, he loved them dearly, but he was mad. Angry and alone for way too long.

Michael was not fine.

Michael sufferred silently, though. Chronic insomnia, depression, social anxiety and dermatillomania all bundled in a cosy package known as Michael Mell. Antisocial headphones kid. Because that's all he was to people. Because that's all he needed to be. If he were anything more, then people would have to care. People would have to ask if he was okay, and then they would have to help. And if there was one thing Michael knew about humanity, is that people looked for the easy way out. So if someone were to ask "are you okay?" and the answer were to be "yes" despite them clearly not being okay, the one who asked would simply accept it. Because accepting was a lot easier than dealing with the issues.

Michael was not fine.

Michael accepted that.


End file.
